Dieing of a Broken Heart
by Syrene the Silver Angel
Summary: She was all alone, except for a loyal bird. They decided to be passing just as her body had hit it's limit. Will a king a a prince be enough to heal a broken soul?
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer:I do not own Lord of the Rings_

_a/n---I've just been reviewing my obsession with legolas a bit and realized I kind of left Aragorn out. And I was thinking about fangirls because of it. I used to be one, though now I look on in silence..._

My heart burns with love and pain every time I see them. Two friends, living life the way life should be lived. Plenty of adventures, relaxing, and a knowledge that others care for them. They do not know I spend my time watching them while they travel back and forth between Rivendel and Mirkwood. I evny their friendship, for I had one like theirs once, but it could not stand the distance between the darkened groves I make my home and the livelyness of Bree. I know longer travel there, knowing she has greater thing on her mind, like her new baby girl and dashing husband. She is the lucky one, for I have nothing but a long, silver knife, made for my dead brother by my dead father.

The raid that destroyed my life was prepared for by Thanduil, King of Mirkwood, well. He had half the army huddled around my village home, all at the calling of my great uncle. Even the wall of warriors was no enough to stop the attack, and to this day, I know not why they attacked in the first place.

A falcon lands heavily on my leather-clad shoulder, flapping its golden-brown wings as it regains it's balance. Once steadied, it looks at me expectantly, sounding a single, sharp chirp, almost like a comand. I sigh and place a finger on his deadly beak.

_I already know, mel-nin._

Not far below me is the ground. I'd jump and run to hide or climb higher in the haunted oaks branches if I possessed the liveliness to do so. An elf living alone for as long as I have would surely be dead by now. The emotional drain is obviously starting to wear me down. I would seek the halls of Elrond, if I had something to live for. All I have is poor Sindadal, who comes to me without the need for a call.

A sudden laugh interrupts my inspection of Sindadal's feathers. I look to my right, but neither elf or ranger is in view yet. I really do not wish to be discovered by them. Maybe the luck that has kept me alive all these years will hold and they won't see me. Hopefully Sindadal will keep his ever snapping beak shut.

A dark brown horse has now come into view with a matching rider. It is the ranger. His brown locks are somewhat tangled, probably from an earlier race. His unshaven, smiling face holds a rough beauty all its own. His rugged leather traveling clothes are covered in dust and dirt, matching his frisky pony. His laughing eyes are a color I use to imagine the sea, an endless deep blue with sparkling flecks of gold.

Another horse joins the rangers, only it is a bay mare with a white main and tail. I've loved this horse since I first laid eyes on her. It always seems she knows I'm here and looks in my direction with a question in her almost human brown eyes. Her rider is as elegant as she, with pale gold hair and smooth skin any woman would kill to have. His build is slim, but strong, much like the rangers, and his eyes are a silvered version of the seas I can see in my mind. The traditional greens and browns of his clothing are the lighter equivalent of my own, but he looks ready for the halls of the Valor, unlike myself.

Sindadal takes flight, leaving a faint stinging in my shoulder, and the elf looks up towards him instantly. A gentle smile graces his lips as he watches Sindadal whirl around his human friend.

"See, Aragorn? He always comes back after a good meal." Sindadal lits on the ranger's shoulder. "Find any good, fat mice, Lord of the Skys?"

Sindadal chirps in a happy manor and I smile as much as my tired body will allow. He will not be lonely after I am gone, that's for sure. Sindadal looks up at me, along with the elf's mount. Both are aware of my presence, but neither friend does.

"It is good to know that there's at least one decent creature out here who eats well." says the ranger, letting one finger run down Sindadal's soft breast. They have stopped their horses, their full attention on Sindadal. Oh, what a wonderful bird! He's giving me the chance to get up higher, even though I don't have the energy. He chirps at me before taking to the air again and coming back to me. Luckily, the two travelers don't look hard after him. They start forward again in silence, each lost in thoughts about only Iuvitar knows what. I feel my eyes droop and Sindadal scwaks for some reason. I don't know why, for my vision has just gone beyond shadowed. I feel my body lean forward and Sindadal tumbles from my shoulder and into flight. Scent, sight, and feeling fade as my mind moves into a lockdown...


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings_

_a/n---I like how this is working so far. I just started writing and...ta-dah! Heres the next bit._

I smile after the falcon as he disappears into the trees, then have to hurry to catch up to Aragorn. This isn't the first, or the last time he has and will continue on without telling me. He's probably brooding about his past again. It has been in the fore of his thoughts since he was small, as Elrond tells me, and the knowledge that his parents are dead and hadn't just left him has him lost in thought for hours. I can't wait to see Mithrandir again. He has always been very intune to the past, as wizards tend to be. He must know something of Estle's past.

I look over at my human friend and remember how we first met. It was around ten years ago, back when he was twelve. I hear his constant questions and Elronds scolding for rudeness. Now, I quite like his blunt manor, for it makes regretably boring converations worth taking part in. He smiles at me, only just noticing my gaze, in a way I reconize from Elldan and Elrohir. How those twins mother the poor man, there's almost no need for their father.

A dull thump draws my gaze to the trail we have just tread. The form a a small person lays there that wasn't there before. My eyes are among the best of my kind, so he must have fallen from the tree branches. Our falcon friend, who always follows us when Estle and I travel, lands on the fallen mans shoulder and starts screeching and flapping his wings in a furiously worried way. My smile is replaced by a frown as I pull on Aelina's riens, turning her back towards the deathly still figure. I hear Aragorn follow, letting the healer Elrond beat into him surface as it always seems to in the presence of the wounded and dieing. I slip off Aelina's back, trusting her to remain close, and fall to my knee's beside the crumpled body. Brown hair tied in with faint gold and silver cover his face and his clothes are very like my own, only darkened by years away from proper sunlight. The falcon moves to my shoulder as Aragorn nudges me out of the way. I move above the body's shoulders and pull his head into my lap, baring a face that is definatly female. I give a silent apology to the girl for calling her a man in my mind, for it takes alot to trick my eyes. I brush her odd hair away from her pointed ears as Estle feels around her jaw and wrists for a heartbeat.

His heavy sigh makes me look up as his hands move to rest on his dirt-covered knees. He is no longer smiling. Such a find is definatly a good way to kill a mood.

"She's alive." Aragorn says softly, his eyes clouded with confusion and saddness. The falcon nibbles in my ear gently, taking care not to draw blood. I grasp one of the girls hands and my frown deepens. Elves are not a people who feel cold easily, yet her hands I can easily tell are freezing.

"For now." I say, gently rubbing her tiny, delicate fingers, trying to warm her, even slightly. "Feel her hands, Estle."

My companion puts her other hand in his own, the small, pale limb disappearing entirely in his fingers. "Valar, she is freezing." He releases her hand and pulls her limp form into his arms. She is such a tiny thing, even for one of my kindred. Aragorn looks away from her face to mine, determination gleaming brightly in his dark eyes. "We need to warm her, Legolas. Even for your kind, being this cold is unhealthy. Shall we stay here for the night, or should we move onward a bit?"

"We may stay here, but I must warn you, Estle, it is no physical wound that harms her, though warming may help." I say as I push myself to my feet, my voice quiet and sad. "I'm afraid there is almost no hope of her surviving anymore."

"Why? Is it some disease that only affect elves?"

"Humans can be killed by sickness, where elves may not. In a way, you could call it a disease. Her heart is recieveing a cruel amount of hurt and her spirit is dieing. Only love can heal her, I'm afraid." I put a hand on my firends shoulder. "Do not feel guilty if she is one you cannot save."

Estle shakes his head and looks down at the girl. "The hands of a Healer are the hands of a King..." he murmurs, and then pushes himself to his own feet, the girl still in his arms. He says to me, "I've saved you more than once from things with lower survival rates. I can at least try."

I nod and let him move off the road. I take his horses reins in my hand and follow him, knowing Aelina will follow me. She's a smart beast and as loyal as and man could wish. Having raised her, she and I have been friends all her life, almost like with Aragorn. Unfortunately, Aragorns own steed is borrowed from our stables with no steady master, therefore not nearly as intelligent as Aelina.

I tie the dark horse's reins to a low tree branch and unbelt Aragorns blankets from the saddle while the young human starts lighting a fire. If the girl hadn't come to us, we may have gotten another two or three hours out of the day, but I do not regret finding her. Now we might make it to Imadris just in time for supper and bed, unless Elrohir decides to be troublesome.

I am silent as I wrap the girl in Aragorns blankets and do the same with my own. I know that even if she does become whole again, she will never be entirely elven again. Those who do recover never are. Most loose their imunity to sickness and the cold. Others become silent and anti-social, like my father had over my mother and sister's deaths. None of these affects are good for my kind, who have lived an eternity not knowing the boundaries of winter and illness and dislike of company. It is obvious we will be spending most of our time at Imadris with this girl, along with Estles foster brothers. Aragorn may not wish to leave her side until he is sure he has cured her. And where did he get that saying from, 'The hands of a Healer are the hands of a King'? I will have to ask Mithrandir when we see him next. He will know.


End file.
